


The Penitence of Jannes and Jambres the Magicians

by Ling_Xiaojie



Category: The Prince of Egypt (1998)
Genre: 10 Plagues of Egypt, Biblical References, Character Study, Cognitive Dissonance, Exodus - Freeform, Gen, Historical References, Religious Themes, Riches to Rags, Some Cursing, Tragedy, Tragic Bromance, Villain Protagonists, bad guys getting their comeuppance, serious take on comic relief characters, takes place during canon, well the last 4 plagues anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22285078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ling_Xiaojie/pseuds/Ling_Xiaojie
Summary: A story about the unmasking, downfall, and humiliation of two proud, cunning, utterly faithless magicians. Takes place during the final four Plagues. The title alludes to an apocryphal text concerning two men who were allegedly mages of the Pharaoh who opposed Moses in the book of Exodus. Their names were Jannes and Jambres, and Hotep and Huy were based on them.
Relationships: Hotep & Huy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 18





	1. Red and Black Kingdom

_“Now as Jannes and Jambres withstood Moses, so do these also resist the truth: men of corrupt minds, reprobate concerning the faith. But they shall proceed no further: for their folly shall be manifest unto all men, as theirs also was.”_

—2 Timothy 3:8-9

...

Huy rubbed his swollen legs up and down with various salves that were spread out all over the table in jars. Across the table, his colleague Hotep was trying to cure his boils in the same way, but in vain. As they did so, they chanted uncharacteristically disharmonious prayers to Thoth, hoping beyond hope that the silent gods would at last take pity on them and answer their pleas. For days they’d done this with not a bit of success.   
  
How had things come to this? The question persisted in both their minds. Everything had been fine just days ago. But then, Prince Moses…the deserter…the murderer…the Hebrew…had returned years after everyone had taken him for dead and proceeded to turn Egypt upside-down, to tear ma’at asunder. 

And still the gods were silent. At least, to Hotep and Huy, they were. They always had been. Priests though the pair had been for around twenty years, the gods had never spoken to them as they apparently had to so many holy men who came before these two. So they pretended. Deceived. Lied. Made it seem as though the gods _had_ been speaking to them all the time. And at last the facade was beginning to slip. Neither Hotep nor Huy would admit it out of sheer denial, but day after day, plague after plague, it was becoming clearer that they could not compete with Moses or his God.

As Rameses approached the room where he knew they’d be, his anger momentarily shifted from the brother who had assailed his kingdom to the priests who had failed to protect his kingdom. What was going on? What were they playing at? Did it even matter to them in the slightest that Egypt was on its way to ruination? What were they up to when they should have been calling on the might of the gods to set all manner of destruction upon that treacherous brother of his? He decided he wouldn’t stand for it any longer. It was his duty as ruler, was it not, to cut away the chaff from his court, to purify it of all filth and deceit? To restore the law of ma’at? They may have been high priests, but he was pharaoh—a god in his own right. They wouldn’t be able to stand against him.   
  
He threw open the curtain and surveyed the scene in front of him. The two priests, their skin normally shining clean from ritual washings, now tainted by disease, just like everybody else in the kingdom. Two holy men, and yet their bodies were no cleaner than those of the lowest merchants. They themselves, no more representative of the gods than the pettiest criminals. Hotep and Huy weren’t blessed by the gods; they had only pretended to be so all this time. With all his strength, Rameses thrashed their table to the ground, caring not that their potion jars now lay in pieces all over the floor. How _dare_ they lie to him like this? To his father? He watched as the pair cowered at his outburst. Hotep staggered backwards and Huy scrunched up, trying to make himself smaller. All at once, Rameses saw them for what they truly were. They were _pathetic._

“ ** _Get out!_** ” the pharaoh bellowed. Wordlessly, they complied, gathering up the few jars that had survived the crash, and left as quickly as they could.

They ran through throngs of maidservants wailing in pain and palace guards weakly clinging onto their spears for support. They too were covered in boils. Everywhere they turned, there was a dead end full of officials and servants coated in horrid sores.   
  
The thin man's bones ached and throbbed with pain, but he kept running, his overweight partner struggling to keep up. Huy would make abrupt stops here and there and look all around him as though contemplating where to go next and if leaving was really worth it. Then he would give up and Hotep would take the lead again. Thanks to the overwhelming crowds, merely finding the right path took them nearly an hour, which to them felt like several. When they finally reached the palace entrance, they fled into the outside world. Just as they started to catch their breaths, a terrible sight greeted them.

Fire scorched the skies and fell like hail on the trees and buildings. Men ducked for cover left and right, women shielded their children, and every last soul was in complete panic. Hotep and Huy jumped out of the way in different directions an instant before a huge bolt of the scorching hail could hit them. The fireball hit the ground and instantly combusted, and there both fraudsters stood, parted by the flames.

Huy barely had time to register what had happened when he heard Hotep’s voice straining over the roar of the fire— “ _Run!_ ” He did as he was told without even thinking, not even glancing for an instant over his shoulder to see whether Hotep was doing the same. He just ran, away from the palace, away from the screaming masses, until the hem of his robe was lit aflame by a drop of the blazing rain. With a shriek, he tumbled to the ground to put it out, losing his jars in the process. Then he saw it. Just ahead, a stone statue of Ptah, big enough that he could hide beneath it from the storm. Huy made a mad dash for the statue and scrunched himself up underneath the great god’s sceptre just as much as he could. The thin man’s heavy heartbeats and ragged breaths helped him drown out the sounds of people wailing in pain, their homes burning.

After he’d caught his breath, Huy finally allowed his thoughts to tune out the clamour around him. He was alive—for now. And he would make sure he stayed that way. Whether this devastating tempest would ever end or not, he would not move from this spot for anything. He looked up at the stony, unmoving face of the idol in whose shelter he hid. In the firelight, the lips of this craftsmen’s god’s likeness seemed contorted, as if into a pitiless sneer. _Where are you?_ Huy demanded in his head. _You who created all that we are and all that we know with a single thought, you creator among creators, where are you in the face of this wrathful God of the slaves who means to destroy all Egypt?  
  
_ He ducked as two pairs of strong legs hurtled past him—two panicked young men, running for shelter. They couldn’t have been any older than teenagers. Seeing them, Huy’s thoughts turned to Hotep, wondering where he was and if he was still alive. Suddenly seized by fear, he began breathing heavily all over again. _Please, please, let Hotep still be alive!_ If he’d been killed, then— then— then— What would happen? What would he do? How would he manage on his own? He folded his arms over his skinny body and tried not to think about it. _He must be alive, he must be, he must be, he must be. Oh, Hotep, dear old friend, please be safe._

...

Hotep attempted to calm himself as he crouched under a statue of Apis—now little more than a cruel reminder of the livestock the kingdom had lost. He mopped his forehead as he tried to think clearly. Chief among his worries was shelter. Somewhere to hide. An out-of-the-way place to conceal themselves, to lay low, at least until things calmed down. The further from the palace, the better. _Where can we go? Where in Ra’s name can we hide?_ Though he knew Rameses wouldn’t actively be looking for him and Huy, things would definitely not end well for them if they were found. With this in mind, the temples were definitely out, as were their homes near the temple of Ra. There was nobody they could stay with. What self-respecting person would harbour two charlatans who had deceived the pharaoh? At a loss, he squinted and let his eyes scan the area. The more he watched the fire fall mercilessly on all that lay beneath the sky, the more anxiety began to build in him.  
  
Just then, he spotted a man running toward an out-of-the-way old shack for protection. _Perfect,_ Hotep thought. In that moment, his instinct to fight took control. He would have to get there first.

Quickly, he dropped his jars and lunged for the man, sending him to the ground. The man yelled in pain as Hotep slammed into him. He responded with a hard punch to the magician’s face. Hotep rolled in toward him, and the man fell on top of him. Immediately, there was a loud crack of flame. The man’s clothes caught fire. His face lit up in panic and he screamed, his fearful expression contorting into one of agony. Hotep shoved the unfortunate off him and without another thought, took off toward the shack, leaving him to burn alive.

Once he was inside, Hotep leaned against one of the walls, panting hard. As his vision began to clear, he thought about the man he left dying outside. His flesh melting, his blood boiling. A picture formed in his mind of a blackened corpse. _Did I kill him? Did_ I _kill him?_ He wiped the blood from his nose and lip. _No. It was a whim of fate. Nothing more. It was either him or me, and he was the unlucky one._ He sank to the floor. At least he and Huy would have a place to hide now. He refused to consider the notion that Huy might already be dead. Optimism wasn’t like him, and he knew well how helpless Huy could be on his own, but this was the only way to stop himself from losing his mind. _You’ll be alright, Huy. I know it. You sneaky bastard. You’ll be alright._

...

The storm had ended a few hours ago, but even through his sandals, Huy could still feel the unconventionally intense heat radiating from the ground beneath him as he walked through the streets. He had been walking since the last fiery balls of hail had fizzled out. Daylight was quickly disappearing behind the horizon, and still there was no sign of Hotep. Huy knew that the chances of finding him were a thousand to one, but he would not give up, even as the sun made itself scarcer and the shadows lengthened. A few people who were in the street stared at him in confusion as he hurried through, occasionally stopping and asking in a distressed voice whether they’d seen Hotep. Nobody had. Still he kept going, calling his friend’s name with what breath he had left. Whether dead or alive, he would find him. _He wouldn’t just abandon me, would he? I know he’s somewhere.  
_  
By now, it was fairly dark, and Huy had quickened his pace to the point of running, bent on reuniting with Hotep before nighttime came and he would be unable to see. In fact, he could barely see in the fading light as it was.

Before he could run another step, Huy’s left foot caught on something that sent him sprawling. Crying out more in irritation than pain, he rose to his feet and looked round to see what he’d tripped on—a man. A dead man. A man who had been burned to death. Huy stood frozen, unable to tear his eyes away from the cadaver. Those nauseatingly red patches of missing flesh. The way they glowed eerily in the setting sun. The unmistakable anguish on the face of the man whose life had been cut short far too soon. Huy’s ears were ringing so hard from the shock that he couldn’t hear his name being called, nor did he hear the footsteps rushing up behind him. Only when he felt Hotep’s hand on his back was he aware of the other’s presence.

“Huy,” Hotep said for a sixth time, his voice unsteady. He didn’t want him to see the man. Didn’t want him to know of what he’d done.

Abruptly, Huy turned and grabbed Hotep’s hand. Tightly. “You’re alive!” he exclaimed. 

Hotep let out a sigh of relief. He took hold of Huy’s sleeve so that he wouldn’t turn around or ever again see the man, the corpse, the _thing_ that been in the way. “Yes. Now listen to me. I’ve found a place for us to lay low. There’s very little to eat, but if we’re prudent, we can make it last a while.” After glancing around to make sure they hadn’t been spotted by anyone who was even remotely connected with the pharaoh, Hotep began leading Huy toward the shack. His friend eagerly followed.

Inside, Huy looked around at the small, cramped space. The place had definitely been deserted, and almost definitely during one of the previous plagues.

“Well, this is quite a turn-up,” he mused, leaning against the wall. “First we're liars, and now we're thieves.”

“Thieves?” said Hotep. “Please. Whoever owned this has probably found a nice place in the kingdom of Osiris by now.”

Huy shrugged in agreement, though the thought of stealing from a dead person didn't make him feel much better. “Do you think…the Pharaoh will send for us ever again?”

Hotep let out a long sigh. “Not likely.” 

“Even when this is all over?” Huy tried again. “If it ever ends, I mean…” 

With a pitying look at Huy, Hotep shook his head. “Old friend, when have you ever known Pharaoh Rameses to change his mind?”

The younger man narrowed his eyes. “You’re being awfully candid.”

His companion gave a snort. “What reason have I to lie anymore?”

Huy had no comeback for that, so instead he sank down onto a wooden box, completely overcome by fatigue.

“Still, though,” Hotep went on, “first the frogs, then the swarms, then the livestock getting all wiped out, then the boils, and then the…” Well, how else could one describe it? “…storm. Are the gods punishing the entire kingdom?” 

Huy shrugged. "It's possible, but I can't imagine what for.” Egypt had always been the way it was before the fateful day when Moses returned from his self-imposed exile. It was impossible to imagine it any other way. Why were they being punished for it just now? “Either that, or Moses knows something about communicating with gods that we don’t.” 

Hotep scoffed. “Sounds like somebody's got boils in his _brain._ ”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Need I remind you that up until a few hours ago, we were high priests. What could he possibly know that we don’t? And who among the gods would listen to a foreigner—and a murderer, at that—when they wouldn’t even take heed of the prayers of two high priests?” 

“Those Hebrews—they’ve always worshipped the God that Moses spoke of, haven’t they?” Huy asked, standing up.

“I believe so. That’s what the records say.”

“Well, all these plagues, as they call them, seem to prove that such a God must be real, and he must be listening to Moses. Can you deny that?”   
  
“It might just as well be Apep,” Hotep countered. 

“What?” 

“The God of the Hebrews might be Apep. Think it over. If He’s so bent on destroying this kingdom so mercilessly, He must be a deity with some kind of thirst for destruction and chaos. He’s our enemy, but the ally of the slaves.”

“In other words, their concept of God is our concept of Apep?” asked Huy, intrigued. “How interesting. In that case, our ‘evil’ would be their ‘good’ and contrariwise.”

Hotep gave an absent nod. “Mm. Still doesn’t answer why we can’t stop it.”

“Well.” The younger man gave a defeated sigh, sitting back down on the box. “Whoever that God of his may be, I don’t mind telling you that I envy Moses a little.” 

“I know how you mean,” Hotep agreed, sitting next to his friend. The box whined under his weight. “All these gods supposedly watching over Egypt and all her people, and no matter how we beseech them, we can’t get them to do a damned thing for us. Meanwhile, that slave-born upstart gets one single god on his side and next thing, the greatest nation in the world has descended into total madness.”   
  
“It seems almost comical when you put it like that,” muttered Huy.


	2. The Husks

Just as the sun was rising, a strange wind blew across the land of Egypt. From a distance, one would swear that it was a cloud of black tar, and even from far off, the wind could have been heard to emit a buzzing noise which only grew louder as it came nearer.

Hotep and Huy were just waking from a restless sleep—they’d spent the night on the floor. There was a soft buzzing from someplace in the shack. Then another buzz joined in. Hotep swatted his arm while his companion rubbed his eyes. The buzzing grew louder as the duet became a trio, then a chorus. Huy brought his hand down hard on the back of his neck. When he pulled it away, he saw the squashed locust’s front legs twitch. Cringing, he looked up and saw that the floor was now covered in the hideous things, and a few more sailed through the air. Huy rose to his feet with a shriek and tore out of the shack, leaving Hotep to helplessly swat at the swiftly accumulating insects.

“You idiot!” the fat man hollered after him, the volume of his his voice hardly any match for the vibrations of the locusts’ wings. “Don’t go out there! Where do you think they came from?!”

Outside, it was worse. Worse by several hundredfold. The locusts weren’t just everywhere in sight, they consumed the landscape and everything within it. They made the air hum with anger and they covered the ground, making it appear as a rippling black ocean. This was worse than the gnats, worse even than the flies. Huy quickly dove back indoors as five or ten of the winged pests buzzed right in his ears. As he shut the door behind him, a score of them were crushed against the doorframe with a sickening crunch.

“You damn fool!” Hotep scolded. “What were you thinking, going out the—” Before he could finish, he felt Huy’s arms tightly seizing him, his body pressing against him.

“I don’t want this,” Huy rasped through tears of frustration. “I don’t want this! Why can’t we just go home?”

The older man was about to push him away in his indignation, but then he realized he just didn’t have the strength. Apart from that, staying in that position would leave fewer places for the locusts to land on them.

Motionless, the magicians clutched one another tightly as they pressed themselves into the corner, each knowing that the other’s presence was the only thing preventing him from being driven mad by the buzz of the locusts.

...

The swarms of locusts permeated the kingdom. All of Egypt—excepting Goshen—seemed to pulsate as though with a perverse heartbeat. The rhythm of the insects. And as they travelled throughout the land, they ate. Everything and anything that still grew in the fields that the hail had not burned to ash, the locusts devoured. When there was nothing left in the fields, they moved on to the storehouses. All day long, they were unstoppable. Ruthless. Unceasing in their hunger. They shredded through grain, meat, and plant until next to nothing remained.

Nighttime came and went. With the rise of the sun the next morning, a mighty wind whipped through the air, felling pillars and palms in its wake as it travelled westward, carrying the locusts with it. Every field, house, and farm was at last cleared of the insects, and the air was breathable again. But there was little to rejoice about, since the locusts had eaten everything in sight. There wasn’t a single growing thing, fruit, or tree that had been left behind. Not since the seven years of famine in the time of Joseph the dream-reader had Egypt known such deprivation.

...

Hotep clutched his aching stomach as he paced around the room, scowling fiercely and cursing Moses. On the other side of the room, Huy lay on the floor, knees folded up to his chest to stifle the sound of his stomach growling.

“What are we being punished for?” Huy moaned. “Is this our reward for trying to be judicious and save what little we have? To have it stolen from us like this?” As if he were a child, his groaning grew louder in the hope of getting the other man’s attention, but he paid him no mind at all. Having run out of nasty things to say about Moses, he instead launched into a tirade against Pharaoh Rameses.

“That stubborn fool! How much more will it take? I suppose he’s waiting for the Eye of Ra to descend on us and slaughter us all before he finally realizes those Hebrews are more trouble than they’re worth.”

Huy pinched his nosebridge and shut his eyes. All Hotep’s ranting was giving him a headache. Still, it was easy to understand his frustration. Before they’d even been banished, the two priests had been fasting since the plagues begun. And now there was nothing to eat. What little there was left in the shack had disappeared along with the locusts. “Is it possible that we might…I mean, there’s nothing left to—”

“Over my dead body,” Hotep interrupted. “We’ve been many things in our lives, Huy, but by the gods, we’ll never be beggars. That’s just what Moses wants! He wants to see us Egyptians broken and humiliated. But he won’t get to me.”

“It’s not begging if we ask someone we know for help…is it?” Huy pressed him. “There must be someone we can go to without the pharaoh catching us.”

Hotep raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”

 _Such as? Such as?_ Huy racked his brain. “I…”

“I thought so,” Hotep sneered.

“Just a moment. Do you remember young Pahemnetjer?”

“That boy we took on as an acolyte a few years ago? Didn’t he join the cult of Horus as a temple guardsman?”

“Yes, yes, that’s the one,” said Huy. “I think he’s still living with his parents in the square near the Nile. They’re quite wealthy, apparently. It might be worth asking him…”

“If he still has any respect for us, you mean,” Hotep grunted. “I can just imagine his face when he sees us like this.”

“We must try, old friend,” Huy insisted. There were traces of water in his eyes. “We must, otherwise we’ll starve.”

...

It had been a long, arduous walk from their cramped hideaway to the mighty Nile, but they did make it at last. After asking about, they eventually found Pahemnetjer’s house and approached it. A young man with a stern face and shaved head came to the door after Hotep and Huy had explained to the attending maidservant who they were. He looked at them both in surprise and recognition.

“Master Hotep? Master Huy? By the gods, how long has it been?”

“Good afternoon, Pahemnetjer,” said Hotep.

“My dear boy, how are you?” Huy asked, trying to be pleasant.

Pahemnetjer’s gaze fell. “As well as we might be, given the circumstances. Truth be told, my wife is starting to lose hope.”

“You’re married now, are you?”

He nodded. “I am. And you yourselves, how have you been?”

Hotep narrowed his eyes. “I presume you’ve heard the news by now.”

“About the two of you?” Pahemnetjer looked a bit ashamed. “I have been hearing some…rumours, but with the way everything is now, I wasn’t sure whether to believe them. Nobody’s quite certain of anything anymore.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, that’s why we’re here,” Huy explained. “We’ve had to flee the palace, and we can’t go home either. The locusts have left us with absolutely nothing at all.”

“Apart from that, we’ve been fasting since the plagues begun,” added Hotep. “So you see, we’re in quite a bit of trouble. I don’t know how much longer we’re going to last.”

“We don’t intend to impose at all, but anything you can you can spare would be taken with our utmost gratitude,” Huy finished.

Pahemnetjer was quiet. “I see,” he said after a few seconds. “Well, you know how thankful I am for the patience and wisdom you showed me when I was a fledgling priest.”

Hotep and Huy exchanged a glance, both aware that he was leading up to a “no”.

“But I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for you at this time. We barely have anything to eat ourselves. The crops have all been destroyed. We can’t afford to part with our resources now.”

“Yes, yes, but _we_ have _nothing_ ,” Hotep repeated, with rising impatience.

“There are four of us here, and the five servants,” Pahemnetjer informed him. “I have enough hungry people on my conscious already.”

Huy quickly interjected, trying to dispel the tension. “Dear Pahem, we do understand your situation, but our own—”

“Yes, but why me?” their former student demanded, his own trepidation getting the better of him. “Were the pair of you not banished from the court of the Pharaoh?”

“Merely a misunderstanding—” Hotep began.

“With all due respect, do you realize what could happen to me if anyone caught wind of me helping an enemy of the Pharaoh? Should I risk my life, the safety of my wife and dear parents for that?”

“Please, Pahem!” Huy cried, desperation clouding his sense of professionalism. “We have nowhere else to go. Please. For the sake of all we’ve done for you, help us just this once, and we’ll never bother you again. Upon our lives.”

The young priest looked at them. The plagues had clearly taken their toll on them. Where they would ordinarily have shaved every day as was required of their stations, unkempt hair was beginning to grow back on their arms, legs, and faces. Their white robes were dirty and beginning to tear at the hem. Hotep’s round stomach now looked slightly deflated and saggy, his eyes sunken. Huy, formerly a limber man of elegant posture, looked weak and exhausted, as if it was all he could do to stand upright. Pahemnetjer couldn’t help but pity them just a little bit.

“I’m sorry, dear masters. Truly I am. But we’re struggling enough here as it is. I have to think about my family.” He began to turn away, but Hotep stopped him.

“Wait. Perhaps we can make a trade.”

Huy looked at him. “What?”

Pahemnetjer was just as surprised. “How do you mean?”

Dispassionately, Hotep removed the Khepri pendant from his neck and held it out in front of him. “This amulet for some rations for my friend and me. How about it, boy?”

“Hotep!” Huy exclaimed. “Surely you wouldn’t trade that!”

“It might be of some good to you,” he said to Pahemnetjer while shooting his thinner friend a look that warned him to keep his cool. “Have a look. It’s lapis lazuli. You’ll be able to sell it for a good price.”

Pahemnetjer considered the offer as he inspected the stone. If he sold it to a lower noble, he might make a good sum of money. Then he’d find some foreign merchant peddling food and herbs and buy them out. With a breath in, he decided to take the gamble. “Very well. I’ll take the amulet, and I’ll give you both some dried figs in exchange.” He reached for it, but the fat man immediately snatched it back.

“Ah. Let’s see that food first,” he said.

Pahemnetjer frowned. “Fine. Wait here.” He turned and went back inside his house.

“Hotep, are you sure you want to do this?” Huy asked once the young man was gone. “You’ve had that pendant since…”

“Desperate times, old friend,” Hotep cut him off.

“And what happens when food runs out?”

“Not to say that I won’t be sad to part with it, of course,” the older magician went on as if he hadn’t heard his companion.

“Hotep, did you hear me?” Huy pressed him.

He made no reply, but kept staring at his jewel, running his hands over it again and again.

“Hotep, I’m speaking to you,” Huy tried again.

Hotep glared at him. “Enough, Huy,” he snarled. “Just let me have some peace, will you?”

Embarrassed, the thin man lowered his head. Hotep was no fool, and Huy wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. Why pester him?

A few minutes later, Pahemnetjer returned with a mostly-empty sack. “Here we are, then,” he said, handing the sack to Huy, who gratefully took it. “This was among the few things those cursed locusts left alone. May Horus keep you both.”

“Likewise,” Huy said, and immediately opened the sack to make sure Pahem had kept his word. “Hotep, look! If we eat sparingly enough, we can make this last at least two full days!”

“Nobody can say I’m not a fair man,” said Pahemnetjer.

“Well, yes,” said Hotep, handing him the amulet. Huy noticed his friend’s hands tremble slightly as he did so. “Here you are, my boy. A deal is a deal.”

The young man nodded in thanks as he took it. “Thank you. I pray that things will be better when we next see each other.”

...

“You have to admire him,” Hotep said, as the two sat outside, watching the sun go down on the windswept streets. His right hand was still vacantly brushing in circles around the place on his chest where his lapis stone would normally hang.

“Admire who?” Huy wanted to know. He’d been taking the smallest possible bites out of one of the figs, trying to make it last as long as he could.

“Pahem,” Hotep said back. “How he can keep his faith in the gods at a time like this, I just don’t know.”

“Him and the rest of Egypt,” his younger partner agreed. “Even the Hebrews. The lazy and the rebellious among them are whipped to death, the careless ones are killed by freak accidents. And yet they’ve been worshipping that God of theirs all the time, believing He’d come to their aid.” He attempted a blithe chuckle. “It seems like everybody in the kingdom has something to believe in except us.”

Hotep gave a sardonic cackle of his own. “Took the words right out of my mouth.”  
  



	3. Isfet

When the two woke, it was still dark. Outside, inside, everywhere. The darkness was so pervasive that it was tangible, almost liquid. It drowned out all fire that was lit in its presence, and no light from the sun could be seen in the sky. It was as if Ra himself had at last surrendered to the siege on Egypt during the night and quietly died, never to rise again.

There was nothing to see.

There was nowhere to move.

There was only darkness.

...

  
After the initial shock and confusion, the magicians resigned themselves to the change. Once again, eating and drinking were nigh impossible—merely trying to find such things in the all-encompassing darkness proved an extremely difficult task. Sleep, they eventually realized, was the only way to combat their circumstance. If they were asleep, they wouldn’t be hungry or thirsty.

So began the first of several rounds of fitful sleep as they attempted to wait out the latest plague. After a few—hours? Days? It was hard to tell—Hotep and Huy had given up. Somehow, they managed to find a dried fig each, and there they sat, in the dark, back to back, not daring to move. Not daring even to speak, for fear that the thick darkness would swallow any sound.

  
Silence.  


“Hotep?” Huy said finally.

“Still here,” his partner quipped.

Huy’s lips tightened. “That wasn’t very funny.”

“No one can blame me for trying,” Hotep sighed. “You were saying?”

There was a catch in his voice as he spoke. “Ma’at is dead, isn’t it.” A statement, not a question. “No more balance, no more order, no light to see what is good and what is evil. There’s nothing but isfet now. Only isfet.”

“Yes.” There was nothing else he could say to that. Huy was right.

  
Another silence.

  
“Huy…”

“Hm?”

Hotep hesitated slightly before saying, “Nobody's making you stay with me, you know.”

“What?”

“If…if it would be easier for you to go find help somewhere else, then…don't let me stop you.”

Huy could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You want me…to leave?”

Hotep shook his head. “I don't like the idea any more than you do. But let's face it. This probably isn’t the last plague Moses and his God have planned for us, and we’re not accomplishing anything by just sitting around.” After an inward shudder at the hope-destroying notion of countless more devastating plagues descending on Egypt, Hotep went on. “The way I see it, after the way the Pharaoh dealt with us, no one'll take us together. It'd probably be for the best if we split up until things have calmed down.”

Huy hated the idea. After being friends since childhood and spending more than twenty years as partners in the priesthood, Hotep thought it would be for the best if they just…split up? What about everything they'd suffered through? Loath though he was to do so, Huy listened to his friend's plan, just as he always had done. “What do you propose we do?”

“You go out tomorrow. Find someone to take refuge with. Tell them I'm dead and you've got no other options. Really play up the desperation. After you leave, I'll go and do the same. Who knows? They just might take pity on us.”

It made sense. Huy couldn't deny that. Even so, the thought of being apart from the one whose life was practically his own and vice versa, however temporarily, was just too frightening for him. “And maybe…after this is all over…the gods will be kind enough to let us meet again?” he ventured.

“That's the spirit,” said Hotep. “Always the optimistic one.”

Huy knew exactly what that meant. That it was wishful thinking. That this decision could tear them apart forever. That the two of them ever reuniting again would take nothing short of a miracle. Huy thought of the time when they had fled the palace—together, yet apart. When his living or dying depended entirely on whether he found Hotep again. With a vehement shake of his head, he cleared his mind of the thought. He didn't want it to happen again. Never. No matter what unspeakable terrors lay ahead of them, the mere possibility of being separated from Hotep—whether they found refuge or not—until their dying days was more terrifying to Huy by far.

“Forget it,” he said firmly. “I'm staying with you.”

Hotep seemed almost relieved. “Alright. It's decided, then. I guess it would be pretty…anticlimactic if we just left after all we've been through.” He gave a bitter chuckle as he reminisced on their career together. “All those scandals and whatnot.”

Huy scoffed. “Those were child's play. There’s no coming back from this one.”

“You consider this a scandal?”

“Some foreigner shows up and everything goes wrong. Two high priests are thrown out of Pharaoh's palace on their rear ends because they can't fix it, and then they’re reduced to sneaking around like beggars just to keep themselves alive another day.” Huy said sourly. “You tell me.”

He was really gone, then, Hotep realized. The optimistic one. The childlike, oblivious half of their duo. It had often been muttered about them that while Hotep was immoral, Huy was amoral. He made no real distinction between what was right and what was wrong. In a twisted sort of way, Hotep had appreciated that about his companion. He wanted him to keep that innocent stupidity for as long as time would allow. The unpleasant process of embalming a mummy for burial and preserving the organs? When Hotep taught Huy to think of the organs as precious jewels that they were entrusting to the sons of Horus, Huy overcame his revulsion toward the whole morbid affair. Overseeing the executions of traitors? Hotep always referred to it—quite deliberately—as “making people disappear”, leading Huy to think of it as akin to a magic trick. From the very start, Hotep had tried to protect his younger companion from knowing the true breadth of the rottenness of the world. But now, Huy's eyes had been opened, and he was becoming just as cynical as his colleague. “You're talking mighty high,” Hotep grumbled.

“High and mighty,” Huy flung back.

“What's the difference?” They crowed in unison. They often used to play word games like that. When they were younger, more easily amused. One would say a particular phrase, the other would switch up the word order, and the final verdict was either that it meant the same thing or that it was an entirely different matter. But now, their game seemed empty, pointless. Perhaps it always had been, and neither of them had realized it until now. In any case, all that came of it was yet another uncomfortable silence.

Huy was about to surrender himself to his exhaustion when something appeared in the corner of his vision—light. A pinprick of light. His heartbeat quickened. Had Hotep seen? Finally able to tell where the door was, Huy’s gaze drifted towards it. The light was still very far off, but he could see it move silently, gracefully, yet powerfully through the sky above that until now had yielded no sun, no stars, no moon, nothing but darkness, darker than the darkest of shadows. And yet there was a light. But why did he feel no joy? No relief that at last, the darkness was at its end? Why did he feel so… _afraid?_ Though it only stirred in him a little, it was unlike any fear he had felt before. It ran deeper than his fear of the pharaoh, more intense than his fear of being caught in a lie, more primal, even, than his fear of losing Hotep. It was the fear of something beyond life, beyond humanity.

His friend must have felt it too, for he felt him stiffen behind him. The soundless light flickered gravely as it undulated between the buildings of some distant street. As the two watched it, an awareness began building up in each man’s core. An awareness of something that had lurked in the background of their thoughts up until now—mortality. Was this what it felt like to truly fear the divine?

Huy tore his gaze from the door and shut his eyes. In the remaining darkness, he groped for his companion’s hand.

“Say, Hotep, speaking of separating…”

“Huy, I know what you're going to say. Don't say it,” Hotep snapped.

“Well, we have to discuss it,” Huy retorted. “After all, suppose the plagues _do_ take one of us—”

“I'd go right after you,” was the immediate reply.

“What!”

“We've been partners for all of this life, and we'll be partners for all of the next.”

It was wonderful. Wonderful and terrible, the notion that his lifelong friend would rather die than exist without him. How strange it was that until then, Huy had always seen himself as the dependent one in their relationship, for Hotep was older and more cunning than he was.

“Then I'll do the same,” he vowed.

That was it. Their final conversation. The last words they exchanged before their partnership came to an end on account of one simple fact:

  
Hotep was a firstborn.

  
Huy was not.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are much appreciated.


End file.
